Who Needs Erik?
by gotta-rite
Summary: Christine uses wit, courage and ingenuity to escape Erik’s clutches...and a dose of something more terrible - honesty.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Christine uses wit, courage and ingenuity to escape Erik's clutches.**

**This story is set in the final moments of Leroux's novel where Christine has to decide between the grasshopper and the scorpion. Only this time she does something different, with unexpected results.**

**© 2010 Gotta-rite  
With credit to Gaston Leroux for what's his.**

**WHO NEEDS ERIK?**

**Part One**

The cries of Raoul and the Persian rang out in ever increasing anguish from the torture chamber beyond the wall. Christine stood in utter pain and confusion over the choice she must make, looking from one brass tap to the other, from Erik who stood only a few paces away, to the little window that looked down upon the parched and dying men. Her fingers hesitated over the scorpion tap which would set her lover free and condemn herself to life with a madman. It was either this, or the grasshopper tap which would explode Erik's gunpowder, killing everybody for a mile around. She heard the slight intake of breath as Erik saw her touch the scorpion's burnished surface. And immediately something inside her snapped.

She turned on her tormentor with a determined and savage glint in her eye.

"It comes to this Erik," Christine spoke firmly, placing her hand over the brass grasshopper in a daring gesture. "I can turn this tap right now and blow us all to the four winds, right this moment if you like. It can hardly make any difference to me because the only alternative you offer me is as good as death anyway."

Her captor, tall and terrible in his black attire, flinched. But Christine continued, her eyes flashing brilliantly in the midst of her flushed and resolute face. "The only person who can decide whether or not I do this is _you_."

Erik took a tiny step towards the desperate woman. Her fingers flexed. He stopped.

"Do you _want_ to die like this?" Christine challenged in a loud, dogged tone. She was past all fear and hesitation now. "Hated and despised by me? Is this going to be the end of your life? Do you want me to go to my grave cursing and _loathing_ you?"

"YOU ALREADY DO!" Erik shocked her, hurling the words in an agony of despair. Christine almost gasped to see him double over in pain, his claw-like hands clutching his head. "YOU HATE ME! You've never loved me! You HATE me!" He howled like a tortured animal, his voice growing louder and more accusatory with every word. "I've given you everything and YOU HATE ME!"

"AND IF I DO IT IS MY RIGHT!" Christine shouted in equal despair, her hand still poised dangerously over the grasshopper tap. She was terrible to behold. "This is how it is, Erik," Christine stated in absolute certainty, her voice ringing loudly above Erik's pitiful weeping. "Like it or not, there is nothing I can do about it! What have you been thinking all this time?" she suddenly laughed in bitter disbelief. "That you can _buy_ my affection? When you give something, it is a GIFT! You give because you WANT to, not because you expect something in return!" Her hands were clenched in front of her, pumping wildly at every word. Her passion and rage were wrung from the very air. "Don't you DARE try to make me feel beholden to you! Don't you DARE! I will love you if I WANT to and I will hate you if I HAVE to and it is MY CHOICE!"

Exhausted by her fury, Christine crumpled to her knees. She did not cry or try to speak any more, but buried her face in her arms.

Several minutes seemed to pass; a long stunned silence. Christine could feel the soft puffing of her breath against her bare arms. She could hear the parched cries of Raoul and the Persian gentleman still calling from beyond the wall, the gravelly sound of the artificial rain sent to taunt them. But she could do nothing to help them. She was spent. It was all up to Erik now.

And then she heard Erik speak in a voice of sombre resignation:

"Then let it be so."

She looked up and saw Erik striding forward. To her horror, he made as if to take hold of the grasshopper. But just as his fingers were about to graze the deadly object, Christine leapt up and launched herself at his legs, violently toppling him. He stumbled over her, catching himself with his hands, narrowly avoiding crushing the tenacious girl huddled beneath him. His voice threw forth loud curses but there was relief also in his breathless cries. Christine quickly turned under him and pushed him over onto his back, pinning him to the floor with her hands upon his bony shoulders.

His capitulation unnerved her; she was kneeling over him, pushing with the whole insubstantial weight of her body upon his shoulders, knowing that he could throw her off in an instant, yet for some reason he did not. Erik was staring up at Christine's flushed countenance with his piercing yellow eyes. His black mask hid the rest of his face. Christine's hair hung in long dishevelled locks about her face like a curtain, just beyond the reach of his cheeks. He raised a hand to part it.

"Don't move!" she ordered in a commanding tone that barely concealed her fear. "Not until you promise me that…that there's to be no more killing!"

He obeyed and stopped his hand in mid air, holding it there as if turned to stone. But his voice purred as softly as a cat.

"Why should Erik promise that?" he murmured calmly in sweet, gentle tones. "Erik has killed all of his life. He's very good at it, don't you think?"

Christine stared at him, disgusted and horrified. "It has to stop!" was her incredulous gasp.

"Why?"

He was gazing up at her, all innocence, like a child, mesmerising her with his stare. Or was it that lilting, musical voice? _He must not know that I'm afraid._

"Because it's wrong," she stated evenly.

His eyes dropped away from her face.

"Yes," he said, with a smirking tone in his voice. "Erik does a lot of wrong things, doesn't he? He's a _very bad boy_."

His manner revolted Christine so much that without a thought she lifted a hand and struck him forcibly on the side of his mask with a loud smack.

He glared, shocked. Christine thought she would faint with terror.

In a flash he had himself extricated from her grasp. Christine yelped in panic and Erik, seizing her by the arms, dragged her on to her feet and pushed her roughly into a chair. He cast his eyes about for the rope that had bound her previously, but Christine guessed his intention and leapt from her seat and made a run for the door. He caught her after only a few steps and lifted her bodily off the ground, depositing her once again in the chair where he knelt before her and held her by the force of his grip.

"You mustn't run away yet, my dear," he murmured. "Don't you want to see what becomes of your little chap?"

"Why do you hate him so much?" Christine implored, fighting to hold back her tears. "What has he ever done to you? He's just a boy. Why can't you let him go?"

"Because then my Christine will want to go away with him and we just can't have that, can we?" His tone was almost reasonable. He even stroked her forearm with his thumb while he held her in place securely. "It's better this way, don't you see? You wouldn't want to spend the rest of your life with Erik if you knew that the boy was alive somewhere else. It's better that he dies, then you can get used to being with Erik."

Christine sat, deflated. It was useless to argue. Whatever she said would be twisted by her cruel tormentor into something to suit his purpose. He had no love for Raoul, and seemingly none for the man who was known to her only as 'the Persian.' Why should he wish to spare them?

As she watched Erik's sickening stroking of her arm, a terrible thought then entered her head. She had begged and cajoled and even abused this man from the start, expecting to free herself from his selfish passion. Nothing had worked. Now it seemed there was only one thing left to do, whether it meant instant death to them all or not.

She must tell him the truth.

Hardly daring to breathe, Christine looked Erik levelly in the eye. He was staring back at her intensely, his chest rising with each ragged breath that rasped behind his mask. Christine blinked once. And then, opening her mouth, she spoke slowly in a clear distinct voice that could not be misunderstood.

"Christine does not want to be with Erik."

She watched for his reaction and waited for him to go crazy.

It almost seemed for a moment that he had not heard her. He was still lightly fondling her arm and gazing contentedly through her. A heartbeat passed.

Then the stroking ceased. His pale amber eyes flickered. Christine saw that they were filling with tears.

She had always hated to witness his grief but this time it was far worse. This time he did not make a sound. He did not howl or beg or sob as he had many times before. Without so much as a whimper he simply withdrew, crumpling in on himself before her, burying his masked face in his knees. His hands covered his head. It was as if she had sapped the last vestige of strength from his frame and he remained thus for what seemed minutes. It was devastating.

Christine made a small movement to comfort him, but stopped herself, knowing that she could not afford to give him any reason to hope that her feelings had softened. He must accept that she did not care for him. It tore at her heart to neglect his pain, yet she knew now that eventually it would be kinder, if he could survive it.

On the other side of the wall she could still hear Raoul's occasional delirious cries. How long could he endure? How long before he succumbed to the cruel temptation of suicide waiting conveniently in one corner of that infernal torture chamber, the gibbet hanging from the mockery of a tree? Surely he would not give up on life if he could but know that she was nearby, waiting for him? But she did not dare to call out, not with Erik huddled before her at the very brink of total insanity.

Knowing that something had to be done, Christine leaned forward, bringing her lips close to Erik's ear. She was terrified.

"Erik doesn't need Christine," she whispered, and then paused in great fear for his reaction. But he did not move. Only his breathing altered. It became slower, more even.

She dared to continue. "But Christine needs Erik."

His head lifted slightly.

"She needs Erik to help her save the lives of two men. She can't do it alone. She needs Erik."

Though her heart beat fiercely, Christine tried to temper her countenance into a look of benign trusting confidence, so that when Erik gradually raised his eyes to look at her, he saw nothing of her fear, only her sublime faith in his goodness. She did not risk overplaying her hand by saying anything more; she simply looked at him. She could see the battle taking place behind his strange yellow eyes, the first flickering of optimism struggling against the tempest of bitter experience, and she waited to let him fan it for himself into a sustainable flame, praying that it was enough.

It seemed that an age passed while he silently deliberated, and every time he looked up into her eyes she made them smile upon him, not in a sickly sweet manner that would only insult him, but in a genuine trusting manner. The beautiful memory of his enchanting singing recalled itself to her senses and pleaded for him.

At last, he climbed slowly to his feet, and crossed the room to where the scorpion and the grasshopper waited. The scorpion did indeed have a sting in its tail, but not for Christine. Erik turned it, releasing water to render the barrels of gunpowder impotent, and to deliver the two men from the horrors of the artificial desert in which they languished, exhausted and dying of thirst. Erik stood by the scorpion without turning around to look at Christine. They remained silent, listening to the relieved cries from the men behind the wall.

At first Christine felt nothing but gratitude to God. But after several minutes, her anxiety returned, for the cries had changed from elated sighs to frantic calls for help.

"Erik, what's happening?" she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is just a short 2 part story, so now, the conclusion...**

**WHO NEEDS ERIK?**

**Part Two**

"Erik, what's happening?" she asked, trying to keep concern out of her voice. Then, trying to maintain the tone of her previous words, added, "Have we succeeded yet?"

He refused to turn around. But his voice was calm and almost forlorn.

"They'll probably drown…if I don't help them."

Christine fought to keep her nerves at bay. Walking over to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder and quietly said:

"What do you have to do?"

He took a few breaths before answering.

"I must help them through the trap-door."

The men's screams were becoming more desperate, yet Erik gave no sign of moving. It was all Christine could do to stop herself from shouting and shaking him hysterically. With supreme self-control, she looked up at him confidently and said:

"Can I help you with it?"

He dragged his sights from the scorpion to meet her gaze. There was no doubt in her expression; she clearly believed he would not disappoint her. He let his eyes caress her lovely visage, dwelling longingly on every feature; her perfect skin, her perfect brow, her perfect cheek, her perfect eyes, her perfect nose.

"Erik doesn't need Christine," he reminded them both in a simple boyish tone which surprised and pained her. And with that he strode purposefully away out through the door.

Now alone in that scene of torment, Christine hoped that Erik had not simply abandoned all three of them to their fate, herself and the two men whose cries were now noticeably weaker but none the less imploring aid from anyone who might hear them. She sank upon the quaint old couch and stopped up her ears against the distressing sounds. _Let me not hear it if Raoul dies._

But in time, she became aware that the sounds of suffering had ebbed away. The only thing she could hear was the lapping of the water against the wall. Erik had not returned. Then she heard a loud thump and a groan – Raoul!

Christine leapt from the couch just as Erik came crashing into the room through the door with Raoul slung over his shoulder like a sack of coals. They were both soaked through, water dribbling from their clothing in small cascades. Raoul was unconscious, his arms and head swinging about like the appendages of a lifeless puppet. Erik flung him upon the couch with hardly a care and then immediately departed again, apparently to rescue the other drowned man.

Christine knelt beside her lover and felt Raoul's pallid, clammy face. Was it too late? Was he already dead?

He coughed. Christine breathed again. He was alive, alive, alive!

She sat by him, holding his insensitive hand between her own, trying to rub warmth into it. His skin looked very grey but his eyelids flickered, giving her hope. It was all she could do not to melt into tears of joy and elation. So many terrible hours were past, and at last her Raoul was safe and well, and Erik…Erik would learn to live without her.

When she heard her tormentor returning with the other man, Christine dropped Raoul's hand and got to her feet to make way for his entry. The man he carried, the Persian, was also unconscious and Erik draped him on the bed.

"They'll sleep for a while," he explained, noticing Christine's worried frown, "but they'll both live." He dusted his hands, wet as they were, flinging drops of water upon the carpet. "You have what you wanted. Now hate me as much as you like. I don't care any more." With that surprising and bitter speech, he loped carelessly from the room, dragging his feet and stumbling over the carpet. Unsuccessfully navigating the door frame, he slammed his shoulder into it on the way out and almost fell against the wall, cursing and grumbling under his breath.

Christine refused to run after him. Instead, she turned her attention to the two men left in her charge. Their breathing was good and they appeared to be sleeping soundly. The only thing she could do for them was to remove their shoes and cover them with warm blankets which she pulled from the bed after much struggling as the Persian man was a lead weight upon the bed covers and she did not want to disturb him too much. She wondered what had become of Erik. And after she had the two patients securely wrapped, she wondered whether it would be advisable to search for him. It was difficult to say.

What was going to happen now anyway? Were they all to be released, or did Erik have something else in mind? He had saved their lives, but perhaps he thought of keeping them all prisoner down here. No, that was hardly likely. He could never hold three people against their will. Christine stood up and paced about the room. Her brow furrowed. She touched it with her hand and felt the bandage that Erik had hastily wrapped around her head after he had found her trying to smash her brains out in desperation early in this terrible evening.

Then a horrible thought occurred; perhaps Erik had gone away to kill himself! He had looked so hopeless when he left just now, and what did he have to live for? Her heart almost stopped. She must try to find him, to make sure he was all right.

But even as she made for the door she stopped short. No. This was a mistake. She must not show the least concern for Erik's welfare. It would only confuse him again, make him think that she really cared for him. Yet if he really was about to kill himself…

Christine got up and walked calmly out of the room, trying not to hold her breath. She wandered slowly from room to room in the queer house by the lake, peering gingerly into every corner without calling to her tortuous admirer. When she did find him, she wanted Erik to think that she had no particular reason for hunting him down. So she assumed as nonchalant manner as possible even while her pulse raced, fearing every moment to come upon a bony corpse hanging from the end of that dreadful lasso.

Finally, she entered Erik's own room, having left it till last as a place she least liked to visit. Yet, she acknowledged, it was probably the first room she should have searched. She let the door stand open to admit some light from the passage. He was not at his desk or in any of the chairs.

Stealing her nerves, Christine approached the coffin he always slept in with the lightest of steps. It stood in grim majesty in the middle of the room. Taking a breath, Christine stood beside it and peered cautiously over its side.

There he was, lying in the morbid casket, clutching the score of Don Juan Triumphant to his chest. His mask was not covering his face.

"What are you here for?" Erik asked gruffly, making her start. Encased in his funeral casket, he was a truly gruesome spectacle. "Don't you have everything you wanted?"

"I came to thank you," she responded, amazed at the readiness of her lie.

Erik grunted. "Thank me then and go. I don't want you here."

How was it that this man could twist her heart so easily? As she regarded him, lying miserably in his box, Christine knew that all she wanted was to caress his withered cheek and tell him that although she could never love him as a husband, she did love him as a man, as a person, as a friend. And all of this in spite of what he had put her through! But she dared not do it; he was incapable of appreciating the finer shades of human feeling. He could not operate in half measures. She had thought it was Raoul who was drowning; if she dared hold out a hand to Erik he would pull her under with him and sink them both together.

"Are you going to be all right?" she gently asked.

"Erik doesn't need Christine, does he?" was his surly reply. "So go away."

Then Christine understood. He was turning the tables on her, punishing her. She swallowed, and paused a little before answering.

"You're right, Erik," she said calmly, doing her utmost to keep the sorrow out of her voice. "You don't need me. I'm sorry that I hurt you, and I do thank you for saving Raoul's life and that of the other man."

She waited. She wanted to ask him what he planned to do next. Evidently he did not have suicide on his mind, but there were two enemies of his recovering in a nearby room, and what did he expect them to do as soon as they regained their strength? Was that why he was lying in his coffin, waiting for the inevitable? It was a thought Christine could not endure.

As she was about to open her mouth to speak again, a low rational voice issued from his resting place.

"Erik and the Daroga are even now. But Erik owns the boy. I'm giving him to my Angel as a wedding present. Take care of him, Christine, and remember how Erik loved you."

Christine's stomach turned over and she gripped the side of the coffin with her trembling hands.

"Erik, you have to get away from here!" she cried, unable to bear the turn events were taking. "Raoul will try to kill you!"

"No, Christine. I saved his life. He cannot hurt me."

"He can and he will! You mustn't let him find you here!"

The figure in the coffin calmly sat up, looking more ghoulish than ever as it did so, and laid the sheets of music aside. He looked at her, his head on one side, as if he were trying to make something out.

"I saved his life," he repeated, as if Christine had not understood him.

"I know," she replied, "but if he thinks for a moment that we are not all free to go he will do whatever he thinks necessary. We mustn't let him see you, or he'll lose his head and do something terrible!"

Erik began to laugh, his ugly, mocking laugh. "That boy can't even take a swim without needing to be fished out like a wet sponge. What can he do to Erik?"

"He hates you! I don't know what he'll do."

"That makes two of you then, or three," Erik murmured, his mood suddenly altering to a whimsical, troubled air, "or four or five or six or seven…" His voice trailed off. He was not making sense.

Christine grasped the madman's sleeve. "You must get Raoul up to the surface and far away from here!" And immediately she feared she had made a mistake.

But Erik only looked at her with tired, tear-filled eyes. His face was always ugly but it was doubly so now, even in the shadowy half-light of the darkened room. "I'm not going to hurt him," he rasped in a half-whisper. "I was never going to hurt him! _He_ crawled into the torture chamber! I didn't put him there! Did I ask him to come looking for you? I would have sent you back as soon as I got your promise!" Erik was starting to cry again. "You said you would stay with me!"

Christine could think of nothing to say. Because it was true. She had said it. It was the reason he had given her his ring. With a supreme effort though, Erik stopped up his tears and turned away. It was the first time Christine had ever seen him rein in his violent emotions.

"I know you won't hurt him, Erik," she tried to sooth him, allowing only her voice to touch him. "I was more concerned that he might harm you. Truly."

"You hate me."

"I do not hate you," she stated.

"Then tell me that you love me," he whimpered childishly, giving her a sidelong glance from under his brow.

It was impossible. It was not just the fearsomeness of his loathsome visage that repelled her but the terribly simplistic and egocentric nature of the man. He did not need a wife or a lover or even a friend; he needed a mother. And Christine could not pretend to be her. But the thought prompted an idea.

"I'm certain that your mother loved you Erik," Christine said and held her breath for his reaction. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to say considering she never knew the woman, but surely all mothers loved their sons?

For a minute she thought he was going to explode in rage; his face contorted and his lips quivered. But almost immediately the fire burnt out and he returned to a mournful lethargy.

"She couldn't," he said simply. "I was too horrible."

"Rubbish," said Christine. "Of course she loved you."

"No."

"Perhaps she didn't know how to tell you."

"She said I made her sick."

Christine was shocked into silence and simply stared.

"I killed her dog," Erik confessed simply.

Christine felt her flesh begin to creep with nervous apprehension.

"I strangled it and left it in her room. She said I made her sick and locked me in a cupboard for the rest of the day."

"Why did you kill the dog?" murmured Christine fearfully.

"Because she loved it more than me!" Erik cried, thumping his fist on the side of the coffin, making Christine jump. "And she had no right to. I was her SON! She should have held _me_ on her lap and given _me_ treats and taken _me_ for a walk! I was her SON! She had no right! NO RIGHT!"

"Is that why you were going to kill Raoul, Erik?" Christine hastily blurted out, terror making her bold. "Because you think I have no right to love him more than you?"

"I wasn't going to kill Raoul!" wailed Erik in a paroxysm of grief and rage. To her horror, he began climbing out of the coffin. She stepped back but in a moment he had stumbled out of it and hurled himself at Christine's feet. "I only wanted to make you promise. I love you, Christine! I love you!"

Here he was again, pouring his heart's blood into a vessel that could not hold it, clawing at the hem of her theatre costume like some mad, abandoned thing. She could not bear it. Reaching down, Christine threw off all her sworn reserve. Wrapping her arms tightly about his bony shoulders, she gently encouraged him to stand. When she had him on his feet she held him close to her, stealing her nerves against the fear that threatened to overset her. It was not the feel of his body so close to her own that frightened her but the knowledge that this man was hurtling out of control like a run-away train and she alone stood in his path to slow him or be dashed to pieces by him one way or another.

For some minutes she allowed him to rest his forehead on her shoulder while his sobbing abated. He was just a little boy after all who needed to know that somebody cared. It pulled at Christine's heart in pity and aversion at the same time and she found herself starting to think of Erik's mother with intense indignation and anger. That woman was to blame for all of this! She should have seen the mischief she was creating! A boy doesn't kill his mother's dog for nothing! She should have seen and questioned and found out why and changed her behaviour toward her son! Oh, it was too late to start apportioning blame, the harm was done. Perhaps she simply hadn't realised. Perhaps she simply hadn't known what to do…

Erik's crying had ceased. His forehead was still pressed firmly to her shoulder and he showed no signs of moving away. Christine tentatively raised a hand and stroked the limp strands of his hair. Her heart was breaking.

"Erik doesn't need Christine, remember?" she softly intoned, a slight quaver in her voice.

It elicited a gasping muffled sob from his throat. Then a sniff. And finally he edged himself away from her embrace and turned away, rubbing his forehead with his hands. He made two fists and held them against his mouth, breathing deeply. He was thinking. Christine watched as his shoulders rose and fell, standing with his back to her while he privately meditated. It felt like the longest moment of her life.

When he turned round to face her again she was ready with a serene countenance which she hoped best suited the needs of Erik's disordered mind. He looked exhausted, beaten. Without a word, he slowly unfolded his long sinewy fingers and held out to her the palms of his hands. He offered them to her but Christine could not comprehend the meaning; was he begging something of her? Did he want her to take his hands in her own? Erik simply looked at her, clearly expecting her to understand.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked warily.

"Decide," was all he answered.

It was not enough of a clue. Perhaps he was asking her once again to be his wife. Or was he inviting her to spit on him, a final show of contempt and rejection? Christine racked her brain trying to come up with an answer, terrified of choosing the wrong one.

But the thought soon occurred that it really did not matter what Erik wanted from her; she would give him what she judged to be for his good. And so, reaching out and placing her hands under his, she gently brought his palms together and held them there, closed between her own. For a moment she retained her clasp on them, regarding him with all earnestness. Then, in a very subtle motion, she quietly returned them to him. She hoped he would grasp the significance of the gesture and be able to accept it.

The slow melting of his expression into manly sorrow made it clear that he had. Christine did not let go of his hands but held them lightly until he made the break himself. He looked down at her and hung his head in lowly shame, like a man who had finally exhausted all hope. But Christine would not have it. Raising her fingers to his cheek, she smoothed back a long strand of errant hair and caressed his wretched face.

"There is somebody else who loves you more than me," she said in a kindly tone.

"Hmph! God I suppose!" he grunted rudely.

"No," she replied, ignoring his blasphemous tone. Placing her palm upon his heart, she said, "Somebody in there. You have a greater man in there, Erik, and he is waiting to take care of you and love you."

His silence was enough to tell Christine that her strange suitor was at least considering her words. His eyes were upon her small white hand and he stood there for some moments before raising them again to her serious face. When he did, there was something akin to calmness in their expression, such that Christine had seldom noticed before. Even music had never made his eyes so soft and placid.

He nodded slightly. "I made him for you," he whispered, moisture glinting on his lids. Christine gazed at him, uncertain of his meaning, patiently waiting for him to explain. "I made Erik for you, Christine," he went on quietly. "But now I have him for me too." He nodded again, a small acquiescent nod that seemed happier and only a little sad. Gently he removed Christine's hand from his chest. "Erik doesn't need Christine. But I need Erik."

Not quite understanding, Christine merely nodded in agreement. She drew a step back and invited Erik to follow her to the door. "It's time to get those men away from here so that they won't hurt you," she said, noticing Erik blink in confusion at the change of subject. "Come with me."

She held out her hand. Erik paused and took it. He made her stop for a moment before leaving the room.

"Erik loves me more than you Christine," he told her in a tone that seemed to ask for her confirmation.

"He loves you ever so much," she assured him, stepping closer to impress the point. "Because Erik will never leave you, as I must. And Erik will always be with you. And now you must let Erik take care of you by getting those men away from here!"

"Yes," he agreed, renewed determination in his voice. "Yes. Erik will do this Christine."

Something different had come over him. Christine felt it as he led her purposefully to the door. She knew that he would definitely keep his word.

"You're a good man, Erik," she told him, half wondering whether it was wise to say it. But it was all right. For Erik only looked at her and smiled a slight, ghoulish smile tinged with pride.

"You never believed me, Christine," he chided her in a fatherly tone. "But Erik was always a good man. It's the other one that can be a problem. But he'll be all right now, Christine. Because Erik is here to take care of him."


End file.
